Love Patterns

by Michael B. Malone

  After dinner, which was lamb and tomatoes roasted on a skewer, they were treated to a lecture from an expert on the history of the region they were to investigate. They were told that the date palm was the main crop and there were over five hundred varieties. Dates had been grown in the region for five thousand years and at present there were over twenty-five million date palm trees in Iraq, mostly around the six thousand square miles of marsh. Every part of the tree was utilised. Dates and date syrup were canned, the leaves were used to make paper, the wood for carpentry and the bark fibre for making ropes. They learned that in the marshes were huge areas of reeds that from ancient times were used to make mats.

  Alan had much to think about as the party split into small chattering groups. When he got back to his room, he started on another letter to Kirsty describing Basra, then fell asleep, wondering what new experiences the following day would bring.

  He woke early the next morning to a cacophony of sound, cockerels crowing, chickens cackling and the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer from the tops of the minarets of the city’s mosques. On enquiry, he found that most households kept roosters and chickens in their gardens, where they acted as a general alarm clock, and the call to the faithful was repeated five times a day. He smiled, intrigued by the sheer oriental difference and decided he would try to immerse himself in this alien culture and extract as much experience as he could from his short stay.

  Much of the day was taken up with organising the party into groups and allocating tasks to each. Dot and Alan were assigned to the group investigating the fish stocks and the water quality of the location and netting and counting the varieties and sizes of fish before moving on to a different site.

  Dinner that evening was Masgouf, grilled fish from the river Tigris, eaten with samoon, flat unleavened bread, and followed by thick sweet Arab coffee. After dinner, Alan and Dot managed to borrow a guide.

  During the tour the guide pointed out the parapet walls on the roofs, explaining that most houses had a terrace where the families slept. When Alan showed great interest in the guide’s information, asking him questions in unsophisticated Arabic they were taken, after a short walk, to the guide’s own house and introduced to his family which seemed to consist of males of various generations, although he did catch glimpses of several pairs of dark female eyes peeping out from dim archways. They were offered Chai, a kind of lemon tea, while the guide interpreted the questions from young and old directed at Alan, that he couldn’t decipher for himself. Although Dot was given tea, the males in the house didn’t seem to know what to make of her, and did not aim any questions at her, whether out of politeness or wariness, Alan didn’t know. When they were shown around the house. Alan again felt Dot’s fingers slip into his own. He grinned to himself. They were shown the terrace on the roof where the family slept, and he was surprised to see a television set against one wall.

  The guide explained that most families didn’t retire until after midnight, having had a sleep in the middle of the day and many football matches were shown late. He further explained that Iraqis were mad about football, and matches were liable to start on any piece of suitable ground, with young and old alike joining in.

  Before he left. Alan handed the males a packet of postcards of Scottish views which were received with apparent pleasure. Afterwards Dot confided that during the year she’d spent in Iraq she’d never even seen the inside of an Iraqi house!

  In his own room, later, Alan continued his letter to Kirsty, glad at last to be able to supply her with his postal address, then settled down to sleep. wondering what the marshes and the base camp would be like.

  At breakfast there was an air of expectancy, with the members of the party chattering and joking in an atmosphere of camaraderie. Then they packed, and loaded their luggage into a rickety old bus and set off up the highway from Basra, then turned off west onto a dirt road, which they soon left. After about an hour bumping along a rutted track, they arrived at the ancient fort that was to be their home for the next six months.

  Alan’s eyes widened in amazement. But for the expanse of marsh and open water that could be seen in the background, the fort could have been taken from the set of a film about the foreign legion. It was a large two-storey building, built of mud brick, with a yard surrounded by a ten-foot high mud brick wall with a wooden gate where the rest of the party, smiling Iraqi students and university staff, were waiting for them.

  Professor Suleman introduced everyone and Alan was assigned a dusky faced student called Warid, who helped carry his luggage into the building and showed him to a small room with a bed and a large chest against the wall. After Alan dumped his case and bag, Warid gave Alan a tour of the fort.

  They started on the top floor which was a roof terrace where, according to Warid, those who found it too hot in their rooms could sleep. Alan looked over the expanse of marsh and lake visible from the roof, drinking in the scene

  Mist was rising from the marsh and over the mist a rainbow bent over to drink from the water. Patches of reeds and small islands faded into the distance.

  A patch of white caught his eye and he smiled, delighted to see a group of herons feeding in the water.

  “It’s beautiful,” he remarked in Arabic to Warid who smiled, showing startlingly white teeth and explained that he belonged to a Madan tribe himself.

  Alan decided to cultivate Warid’s friendship and try to learn as much as he could about this fascinating region and the way of life of the Madan, as the marsh dwellers called themselves. The second floor was the accommodation block. Alan was shown the toilets and bathrooms with showers, which were more than he expected, and were serviced by a large water tank in the roof, filled by a pump system. The ground floor contained the kitchen, dining room, meeting rooms and temporary but well-equipped laboratories. Warid explained that the fort was a relic from the days when camel caravans used the route and were preyed on by bandit tribesmen.

  They wandered outside where Warid pointed out two long huts outside the walls which were to be used for storing specimens and stores. When Alan asked about the boats they would be using, Warid took him down to the shore. Moored to a short wooden jetty, were two large motor launches, a few dinghies and four long, black canoe type boats with a high curved prow and stern, which Warid explained were called mashhufs and were the traditional conveyance of the Marsh Arabs. Alan stroked the sides, and exclaimed at their beauty

  Warid offered to teach him how to handle a mashhuf They strolled back to the fort asking questions of each other in mixed Arabic and English about their different ways of life.

  Alan found Dot being shown around the fort by a young girl student who’d been assigned to her, and learned that the four of them were to form a survey team. Dot told him later that the girl Umm Yasin, had been surprised to be invited, as surveys like this were normally the preserve of males. It was only when she found that there was a single woman on the survey that she realised why she’d been chosen. Nevertheless, she was grateful as female students were usually only employed on office-type tasks or on carefully segregated and chaperoned trips.

  A meeting was held in the early afternoon, finalising the areas assigned to each group, then they were taken on a tour of the marshes in the two launches.

  They gradually left the mudbanks behind as they travelled deeper into the marshlands and began to pass larger patches of reeds and soon they were surrounded by them and had to navigate narrow waterways. The reeds were golden, about fifteen feet high, waving in the breeze and when in the middle of them, all that could be seen were the reeds and a patch of sky above. The reeds seem to deaden sound which was only broken by the chug of the boat’s engine. They passed groups of houses made of reeds, with buffaloes grazing on raised ground near them and long-legged chickens, squinting one-eyed at the vegetation.

  Men and young children shouted greetings, but the women and older girls shyly twitched their headcloths over their mouths and noses, and all Alan could see were dark eyes curiously
surveying the group.

  He was starting to fall in love with the marshes, as if some distant memory was awakening. When they made their way back in the late afternoon, mist was rising from the warm water, and with the chirping of the birds and the occasional bellow of a buffalo from somewhere in the reeds, it was like a scene from a dream and he felt suddenly at peace with the world, as if in some strange way he had come home.

  After dinner that evening, which was a delicious grilled fish dish, Warid offered to take Alan out in his mashhuf and advised him to wear only shorts as he would be in the water a lot. Alan had some experience of canoeing from university, but wasn’t prepared for the sense of balance and timing needed to handle this type of craft.

  Before they set off, Warid had made him sit in the dead centre of the boat while he sat in the stern. Alan with paddle at the ready, automatically leaned to one side as he dipped the paddle into the water. The boat overturned despite Warid’s valiant efforts. When Alan got to his feet spluttering and wiping mud from his face in waist high water he found Warid already back in the boat. Warid showed him how to adjust his weight and almost made the boat turn somersaults.

  After repeated duckings, Alan began to acquire the knack, with Warid sitting in the stern, helping.

  As they tied up and returned to the fort, Warid with a broad grin declared. “You might be able to paddle the Mashhuf by yourself in a month or two.”

  Excited about starting work the next day, Dot’s team sorted out a routine for sampling the fish population and testing samples of the water from various locations.

  When Alan retired to his room he continued his letter to Kirsty, describing his adventures, yearning for her and almost feeling her presence. Still thinking about her he fell asleep.

  Alan with Dot, Warid and Umm over the next few days, settled into the work of collecting samples from different areas. They were taken in the launch to the day’s location and dropped off with all their sample jars, the rowing boat and Warid’s Mashhuf. The first thing they did was lay specially shaped nets on the mud bed, then leaving things to settle, they collected and labelled samples of water and sediment at various depths from the other half of the area. They then came back to the first area, quickly raised the nets and noted the variety, size and number of fish before throwing them back. After interchanging the two areas, they repeated the process. They were collected shortly after lunchtime and then they spent the rest of the afternoon and part of the evening, analysing the samples and correlating the results.

  The party travelled to Basra that weekend and stayed at the university, where Alan posted his letters to Kirsty and his parents. He tried to phone Kirsty but there were army exercises going on and the phone lines were reserved for army use only.

  When they returned from Basra on the Sunday evening, they passed never-ending lines of army trucks, marching soldiers and tanks on tank transporters. Andrew reminded them of the danger of taking photographs and commenting on the army exercises too openly. Most of the group were glad to get back to the peace and quietness of the fort.

  Kirsty was glad when it was five o’clock on Saturday as the shop had been busy all week. She found Alan’s letter when she got home, and retired to her room, away from Claire’s disapproving frown, to snuggle under her duvet and read it. She found the description of Baghdad and the university interesting, but the parts she read again and again were the private sections. She emerged, smiling radiantly to have a huge tea, much to Claire’s surprise.

  Noticing her sister’s raised eyebrows, she explained. “I missed breakfast this morning, I felt a bit queasy.”

  Alan’s parents came to visit on Sunday afternoon Claire was friendly and welcoming, but when she and Isobel after sizing each other up, went out to the garden for a private chat, she spoke out to the effect that she thought Kirsty was too young to have a serious relationship and she didn’t approve.

  Isobel replied tactfully. “Although Kirsty is young, she has a lot of common sense, probably due to your influence, and anyway, what can we do about it, they are so much in love?” Claire sighed. They talked about less contentious matters.

  Alan’s father had a long chat with Kirsty, during which she was puzzled as he looked at her skin and eyes and seemed to be almost sniffing her.

  He gave her a huge smile and commented. “You look a bit run down!” She agreed.

  “I’ve been a bit queasy lately.”

  He grinned. “I think you should visit your doctor. There is a lot of your kind of trouble about.”

  The Belfour’s left after inviting Kirsty and Claire to visit them in Edinburgh for a long weekend.

  Claire couldn’t help but like Alan’s parents, despite having been prepared to dislike them. The father’s resemblance to Alan aroused emotions in her she thought had died. He had the same way of looking directly at a person and focusing attentively, and something about him inspired trust. She especially took to Isabel, who she thought was in some ways like herself, a practical, no nonsense woman They both appeared to approve of her, and when they complimented her on the marvellous job she’d made of bringing up Kirsty, Claire opened like a flower in the sun. Like most children, Kirsty had accepted Claire’s sacrifices as if they were her due, and only occasionally thought of being grateful. Not that Claire expected thanks, she had only been carrying out the responsibilities that had fallen to her. Still, it was pleasant to be appreciated.

  After they left, Kirsty said with a hug. “Thanks Claire for welcoming my future in-laws.”

  “They are very nice people.” Claire conceded, but got an angry look when she added. “It’s a pity Alan isn’t more like them.”

  The next day Kirsty visited her doctor. Apologising for her vague symptoms, she mentioned that her future father-in-law, a gynaecologist had advised her to come.

  “What’s his name?” the doctor asked and whistled appreciatively when Kirsty supplied it. “Dr. Balfour is well known. If he thinks there might be something wrong, I had better give you a good going over.”

  After giving her several tests, the verdict was that she was in perfect health. “What exactly did Dr. Balfour say?” he asked.

  Kirsty told him about him looking at her eyes and skin and saying there was a lot of her kind of trouble about. The doctor suddenly burst out laughing.

  “Dr. Balfour is well known as a joker. Is it possible you could be pregnant?”

  Kirsty admitted, “I could well be.”

  After some intimate questions and giving the doctor a sample he told her he would get back to her in a few days, to let her know the result. She left him muttering to himself about how the old devil could have known just by looking at her.

  Pregnant! Kirsty thought. The very word had a ring to it. She remembered in Edinburgh when she’d held Caira, she’d had an overwhelming urge to have a baby of her own. Her wildness in Glen Clova came back to her.

  “I must have forgotten to rake my pill,” she murmured. She smiled.

  Chapter 39

  Alan’s group began to enjoy the investigation of the marshes now that their muscles were becoming accustomed to the routine, and they became knowledgeable enough not to worry about making mistakes. They were becoming acclimatised to the extreme humidity and the heat, although they felt they would never get used to their clothes bring constantly damp. They found time for fun and bathing, the routine being that Dot and Umm would dress and undress on one side of a group of reeds, while Warid and Alan would use the opposite side. They swam together, played games and laughed and joked. The fact that the water was crystal clear didn’t seem to bother anyone, as long as the appearance of modesty was observed. Human nature being what it is, they did occasionally catch glimpses of each other out of the water, but only accidentally of course, and only out of the corners of their eyes. Alan loved seeing Umm swim, her hair was waist length and streamed out behind her like a black cloak. He’d found that she also belonged to a Madan tribe, which he thought explained why she swam like a fish.

  Alan
, feeling competent at handling the mashhuf, went for long trips into the marshes with Warid. He understood the boat’s construction when he started paddling among the reeds. The narrowness and the shaped sides bent the reeds without hindering the boat to any extent, and the flat bottom allowed it to float over very shallow water. He was settling into a routine and getting to know the other members of the party well. Their social activities consisted mainly of bridge and conversation, and only those members who were reasonably fluent in Arabic spent any time watching television. He heard on his radio that thirty thousand troops were massed on the Kuwaiti border, and that Iraq was threatening to invade the country. Dr. Suleman told him that trips to Basra were out of the question now and he began to feel a sense of tension, being in a foreign country with a possible war about to start.

  Claire lounged back in the settee, reading the Sunday paper. She was in a foul mood. Frank had told her that he wouldn’t be able to come to Paris as he had a big contract to finish. She’d gone into a huff about men in general, and had been griping again about Alan, sweeping a young girl off her feet then abandoning her to further his career; telling Kirsty that she’d better prepare herself for disillusionment.

  Kirsty, annoyed, told her. “I am not prepared to put up with your constant sniping about Alan. If you don’t stop, I’m going to move out and get a flat of my own.” She stood and flounced through to her bedroom Claire subsided into sullen silence, brooding about Alan and Frank. Later she heard Kirsty retching in the bathroom.